there is a chance of a good spree with the
keepers.

And with what different feelings does the
good Sir Simon look down from his lofty
eyrie, over the princely expanse of meadows,
and over the glittering river, and over the
stately woods to where Great Stockington
still stretches farther and farther its red brick
walls, its red-tiled roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting
chimneys. There he sees no haunts
of crowded enemies to himself or any man.
No upstarts, nor envious opponents, but a
vast family of human beings, all toiling for the
good of their families and their country. All
advancing, some faster, some slower, to a
better education, a better social condition, a
better conception of the principles of art and
commerce, and a clearer recognition of their
rights and their duties, and a more cheering
faith in the upward tendency of humanity.

Looking on this interesting scene from his
distant and quiet home, Sir Simon sees what
blessings flow—and how deeply he feels them
in his own case—from a free circulation, not
only of trade, but of human relations. How
this corrects the mischiefs, moral and physical,
of false systems and rusty prejudices; and he
ponders on schemes of no ordinary beauty
and beneficence yet to reach his beloved town
through them. He sees lecture halls and
academies, means of sanitary purification, and
delicious recreation, in which baths, wash-houses,
and airy homes figure largely: while
public walks extend all round the great industrial
hive, including wood, hills, meadow, and
river in their circuit of many miles. There
he lived and laboured; there live and labour
his sons: and there he trusts his family will
continue to live and labour to all future generations:
never retiring to the fatal indolence
of wealth, but aiding onwards its active and
ever-expanding beneficence.

Long may the good Sir Simon live and labour
to realise these views. But already in a green
corner of the pleasant churchyard of Rockville
may be read this inscription on a marble headstone:
—" Sacred to the Memory of Jane Deg,
the mother of Sir Simon Degge, Bart., of Rockville.
This stone is erected in honour of the
best of Mothers by the most grateful of sons."

TWO LETTERS FROM AUSTRALIA.

CORRESPONDENTS, to whom emigration is a
subject of vital importance—inasmuch as they
appear to be resolved to leave kindred and
home for " pastures new "—have written to us,
with a hope that we will continue to give, as
we have done hitherto, the dark as well as
the light side of the Colonial picture. Not a
few of the dangers and privations of Australian
life we have already laid before them. We
now are enabled to furnish some idea of how
new localities are colonised, by such enterprising
pioneers as the author of the letters
from which we take the following extracts.

It must be remarked, that the perils he
describes were self-sought, and are by no
means incidental to the career of an ordinary
emigrant. His adventures occurred
beyond the limits of the colony as defined by
the British Government which, it would
appear, he was in some degree instrumental
in extending.

We give the "round unvarnished tale"
precisely as we received it, and as it was
communicated by the author to a relative in
Cheshire:—

When we separated from our partner, Mr.
W., it became necessary to look for stations
outside the limits of the colony, for the only
station we then possessed was much too small
for our stock. R. and I first took the stock
up to the station on the Murray, and having
heard that a fine district of country had just
been discovered on the Edward, we followed
it down and discovered our present runs, and,
I must say, they are equal—for grazing purposes,
at least—to anything I have seen in the
colony. It was necessary that one of us should
remain at our station on the Murray, and
R. very kindly gave me the option of either
remaining or going down the Edward. I preferred
going and forming new stations on the
Edward, while he agreed to continue where
he was, which indeed he preferred. I therefore
lost no time in removing the stock before the
winter rains should set in, and the waters rise
to an unnatural height, which the rivers down
here invariably do at this period of the year,
overflowing their banks, in places, for miles.
It was too late,—for just as we started it
commenced raining, and continued, without
ceasing, for a month. It was with the greatest
difficulty we got down, as, from continued
exposure to wet, and what with driving the
cattle by day and watching them by night, we
were, as you may suppose, so completely
fagged, as to be almost " hors de service."
But there is an end to everything,—in this
world at least,—and so there was to our
journey. It excited in me at the time, I well
recollect, strange and indescribable sensations,
as I rode over the runs, exploring the different
nooks and crannies all so lonely and
still, with not a sound to be heard, save now
and then the wild shriek of the native Companion
(a large bird), or the howl of the native
dog, or the still more thrilling yell of the black
native, announcing to others the arrival of
white men.

We were now about fifty miles from any
other white habitation, about six hundred
from Sydney, and two hundred from Melbourne.
The country down here is almost a
dead level,—not a single hill to be seen, unless
you choose to honour with the name a few
miserable mounds of sand which rise to an
elevation of some twenty or thirty feet. The
plains are very extensive; there is one which
extends from our door right across to the
Murrumbidgee, a distance of sixty-five miles,
with scarcely a tree on it.

The Murray—of which the Edward is a